Much Needed Vacations
by Colorful Crime
Summary: Saving the world's a tiring thing - no one asks you to do it, but you end up doing the dirty work nevertheless because no one else does. You know what heroes need? A damn good vacation. And it seems Beacon's the next stop for these fun-starved protagonists who have zero business in Remnant... Well, Ozpin's screwed himself. Royally. (Sporadic updates. Written for the lulz.)


**DISCLAIMER:** _I_ _own nothing but the plot. Give to Caesar what is due of Caesar._

* * *

 **Prologue: A Call to Arms**

"Conflict is evermore. Tranquility exists only where conflict influences least. What is peace, but a glorified interlude? Or an impossible dream?"

* * *

 _ **Part I: The Halfling – The Time Has Come and So Have I**_

Heated steel met eldritch creature in an almost never-ending waltz of combat. For every Grimm that he cut down, two more replaced it as the constant assault came on like a vicious torrent of rainwater.

Claws, fangs, bodily projectiles—whatever he could dodge, he did; whatever he could not was cut. His blade sliced through the Grimm like hot knife on butter, progressively spewing out flames as he swung the sword effortlessly over and over.

He was no stranger to battle, nor was he to hungering hordes of beasts wanting a piece of him. But even if he was ever so used to the symphonies of conflict playing all around him, nothing beat the melody of peace and quiet every now and then. Sure, too much of the damn thing got him antsy enough, but that didn't mean he would always shirk it aside for violence, violence, and even more violence.

Memories of the past would pass him by every now and then. Slaying demons was by no means the exact same thing as ridding Remnant of the Grimm, but there was enough similarities for him to fit right in. Probably the most glaring of differences for him was the fact that while demonic outbreaks tended to be far and few in between (thanks to the very limited access to fucking Hell Gates), Remnant had a pest problem that supposedly spanned the entire planet.

Wow, go figure.

Finally finding a big enough opening, a vicious grin split on his face as his left hand grabbed ahold of the handle of his sword. The blade glowed red-hot, responding to the engine-like noises emanating from the weapon as its user revved it up. As named after the very color that the blade was alight with, Red Queen was primed to tear through a huge number of Grimm.

The horde finally came down upon him. He launched himself forward, spun on his heel, and let loose a mighty swing of steel and firestorm. Whatever Red Queen cut was lost to the wind as nothing but ash as the weapon immolated whatever Grimm it met.

He didn't stop there. The blade was still enflamed, and so was met with his own fiery determination. In a flash, he was a blur of movement and embers—the damned creatures had no chance against him as he tore them asunder and scattered them away to nothingness.

What small number of the Grimm horde remained hesitated, with their baser instincts that bordered on more animalistic holding them back from throwing their lives into the fray. What they thought they could overpower from sheer numbers alone turned out to have been an even bigger predator. A very bad miscalculation, as it were.

A distinct ringing from one of his pockets caught his attention, before he set Red Queen comfortably upon his back. His other arm—an appendage that glowed fiery blue and was covered in scale-like patches that made it look more like an ethereal gauntlet than arm—got to handling his double-barreled revolver while the other took to fishing out his scroll.

One of the creatures dared move, and was rewarded with two bullets between its eyes.

 _The missions have ended. Vacation begins._

One of his brows lifted. _So **he** wants us back now, huh._

 _Bang!_ Another one bit the dust.

The device rang, alerting him to four messages. His eyes widened at the names, before he let out an amused laugh. _Fantastic. The gang's meeting up._

 _Bang!_ Another Grimm down for the count.

Blue Rose continued to rain down death on whatever Grimm dared move from their spots, as if his arm had the sentience to move the gun exactly in the direction where it needed to kill—all while he chose to send his own reply to the rest of his comrades.

Finally. It was time to meet up.

It was time _get this party started_.

When naught finally remained in the barren wastes of the Badlands where he stood, blue light engulfed his surrounding as an ornate katana came into existence in his right arm. Quickly unsheathing the blade, he needed only one cut from the Sparda heirloom to form a rift within space that let him traverse long distances in but a short notice.

Four scrolls in the faraway distance rang, with the message sent by one Nero Sparda.

 _Race you guys to Beacon. Loser asks out Goodwitch for a week._

* * *

 _ **Part II: The Godslayer - A Voice Inside Me Echoing I Will Make It**_

He didn't know why, but there was something about the shattered moon high above the night sky in Remnant that gave him the oddest of feelings.

Up above the roof of the Mistralian inn he was staying in, the evening breeze accompanied him as his eyes focused on the lunar sphere, with the dark expanse around it draped by faraway stars and scattered strips of cirrus. The sight of it was trance-inducing—hypnotic, even—and it made his mind slip into thoughts concerning a world that was far too out of his reach.

Ah, yes. That was it. The state of the moon drove home the fact that he was no longer _home_. He was in a place far away from the threat of gods that walked among what was left of humanity in a world ravaged by a bloody evolution. He had been whisked away from the long-standing conflict that spanned human history by numerous decades, spirited away from the conflict he was so wrapped in.

Above all, his family—Blood, Cradle, and the whole of Fenrir—were literally worlds away from the new frontier he was brought to.

In a stroke of poetic irony, he was taken out from one conflict and hurled into an entirely similar one: Remnant, and the threat of the creatures known as Grimm. The monsters feared by the masses were only vulnerable to some select method that had been made known to humanity, and has thus allowed them to fight back on their own terms.

Hunters and Huntresses in Remnant strove to drive this threat back in the hopes of reclaiming the world for humanity. Just as in his world, humanity had people like him to combat the onslaught of creatures far more fear-striking than most of what the Grimm had to offer, and were tasked to reclaim the planet for the sake of life as they knew it.

And just as when he thought things were finally brightening up, here he was—utterly lost, utterly confused, and utterly alone.

For kingdoms to exist, and for even villages to safely be capable of having a day-to-day experience where people barely had to acknowledge the looming threat—it was an all too surreal experience. If such a thing were possible, then what about back home? What would it have taken to at least reach the same level of peace that Remnant enjoyed, no matter how small? Was it because the Grimm threat was too lacking compared to the dangers his world faced?

He sighed. The situation was entirely unfair, yet him putting these things under the same lens was just as unfair.

Two different worlds. Two different circumstances. Similarities were abound, yet the context in the end were vastly different. At the very least, he recognized the will and drive that people in Remnant had, and as such deigned himself to join them in the fray.

Although he had had to use his weapon sparingly, along with his abilities. For some odd reason, he was still capable of absorbing whatever it was that the Grimm held into his body, just like how he did so when confronted with the titans of Oracle cell make-up. His body and his weapon made use of it just as effectively, but he had never been able to understand exactly _how_ it was that he was able to.

Things like these needed a touch of Dr. Sakaki, a dash of Licca, and a generous sprinkle of Soma.

His musings were lost to the wind when he finally came upon his room and decided to take refuge in the arms of sleep; he was not past changing his clothes when his scroll rang to indicate an inbound message.

A frown marred his face as he read the contents, understanding coming all too easily and with the implications. He closed his eyes for a moment, and thought of everyone—Nana, Ciel, Gilbert, Julius, and Livie—before a serene smile graced his features, and his eyes turned to his trusty partner leaning upon the wall by his bedside.

His God Arc.

The weapon to slay gods, and to light the beacon that was humanity's hope.

His mission has been ended by his **benefactor** , and as such, vacation was on the horizon.

Another ring came, and his smile became a chuckle as he perused Nero's latest message.

He could care less about being late and being damned with the consequences of it. Madam Goodwitch knew them each to an extent, and her knowledge of them was enough to know that some prank or such was up and about. Much as he tolerated Nero and the others' idea of fun, he was distancing himself far away from this one case.

And so with the advent of a new road to take, Hiro Kamui drifted off to the sweet embrace of much needed sleep. It wouldn't do to leave his team alone now, would he?

* * *

 _ **Part III: The Man of Blue – He Whose Rebellion Begins Anew**_

For all his luck of being carted off into a world far from the one he had erased his existence from, it was just another Monday for him—easily mistook as some criminal just from looks alone, picked on by random dick authorities for sticking out like a sore thumb, and cheated out from a meal by some weird chick that had a mean streak offset by her silence.

Ah, Monday. He couldn't remember any other day pissing him off as bad. Landing in the shithole full of stuck-ups called Atlas didn't make it any better for him. It reminded him so much of staying for even just one hour inside the damned vampire's castle, where insults were aplenty and heated arguments were as common as the syllable "day" in every day of the damned week.

Fucking Monday.

He clicked his tongue as he exited the dark alleyway. Behind him was a slew of bodies—petty lowlives who had the gall to mug him of all things—lying in crumpled heaps, beaten black and blue by his fists. Of course, even for a kingdom as progressive as Atlas, it was inevitable that its underbelly would still have the same kind of criminals prevalent everywhere else.

Quickly blending in with the crowd, lest he be made the target again of the authorities' focus, he weaved through expertly through the throng and made his way to the downtown eateries. Cheap as they were, the flavors he got from the dishes were enough to rival his personal favorites from the time he and Taokaka would frequent some places to dine.

But damn, did he miss soba. Ah, damned food of the gods. If only he could've switched out with Kamui over by Mistral, just to have a slice of his personal heaven...

He snapped himself out of his musings in time to pay for his meal and leave the premises, casually taking the more scenic route of his trek to the outlying areas of town. As much as he would have liked to invest in staying inside inns or—god forbid it—a hotel just for the comforts, it just wasn't the sort of person that he was. Being constantly on the move and just sleeping out in the wilderness was part of who he was, and it was a damned old habit that would die along with him.

Of course, with Grimm running around any other people wouldn't be caught dead doing the same thing as he, but he was far from some civilian that needed protection from the monsters that seemed to haunt every Remnant occupant's nightmares. He could still feel the power pulsate through his artificial arm, the one thing that has caused conflict after conflict back in the place he called home.

But could he really still come to call it as such? He had made sure that he had removed himself from everyone's memories, along with his siblings'—no matter how much it had pained him. To secure them a future that was entirely of their making, of their own power; he had sacrificed his meager existence to grant them such a thing, even when madmen had spoken to him of how it was such an impossible, naive, and boring goal.

The last man who had gone against him, the one he had utterly hated the most, he had made sure that that **asshole** would never be coming back. For good.

Remnant may be far from what he could consider ideally as some place to call home, but hey—beggars can't be choosers, he would always think. If he had been hurled into this Grimm-infested rock of a planet, then there must have been some reason.

He doubted it was for anything mundane, and lo and behold: he was proven correct. By **him** , of all people.

The fire he had started crackled, with embers flickering out of it and being whisked away until it burnt out. He poked the wood and rearranged the burning branches with the use of another long and sturdy piece of wood, overturning nigh-ash blocks for the more unburnt pieces.

More than a few times, his mind has wandered over to Jin and Saya—thinking of their well-being and of the future they must be trekking. His lips would break into a wistful smile at the thought of them, along with his master, Taokaka and the rest of the welcoming Kaka Clan...

There was a number of them—people who cared, at the very least, even if there was some degree of dislike from them to him. Despite having no regrets for what he had done, it still gets to him that he had lost them just as much as they had lost him. Well, perhaps less on their part, but all the same—he had isolated himself for their benefit, and even if it was his decision to remove his existence to make their world a better place, lingering attachments were still present and he would never choose to just to forget those bonds.

They may forget him, but as for him? He would never forget them—heavens be damned.

Now here he was. Remnant. A world run afoul by the beasts that have come since ages past that threatened the existence of humanity. He might not be a native, but he'd be damned if he left people who had no business getting into the danger the Grimm presented be killed just like that.

On the plus side, shredding the damned things with his Blood-Scythe was doing him a world of good. Therapy, and all that jazz, he smirked to himself.

A beastly howl from behind him came along with the ringing of the scroll within his pocket. He felt the hungering presence from all around him—about a pack of six or seven, he reckoned.

Standing up and clutching the handle of his sword from behind, his heterochromic eyes glowed with an iridescent tint under the dim light of the shattered moon as his lips curled to a savage grin.

Whatever it was Ozpin wanted? It could wait for a minute. Or two.

Either way, Ragna the Bloodedge had all the time in the world as he was now.

* * *

 _ **Part IV: The Fool – I Will Burn My Dread**_

Comfortably, he sat by the armchair provided within the Headmaster's office in Beacon. It wasn't as luxurious as he expected, but cushy enough for the odd person or two who'd be visiting the man himself high above the school's roster of authorities.

The scent of the brew the man chugged as if there was no tomorrow wafted over to him, and immediately he identified them as beans native to Mistral—light enough for the taste, but still carrying a strong kick based on the brew time. Of course, he was no suave barista-slash-phantom thief, but he's had an entire lifetime observing humanity and learning various things.

On the one hand, he could put down "Glorified Doorknob" as one of his previous experiences when it came to dealing with forces far out of the reach of humanity. On the other, it could also be "Human-Sized Lock," which constituted him being the actual padlock to keep the aggregate negativity of humanity's grubby hands from bringing about the end of the world.

"So, I expect the others will be arriving soon enough, Mr. Yuuki?"

His thoughts went to Nero, Hiro, and Ragna, and to the events that they would soon be entangled with here within the walls of Beacon. Fetching his scroll and taking a peek at Nero's reply, the small upturn of his lip was fleeting and was easily passed as a trick of the light. Or some crap.

He gave Ozpin a nod, affirming of the soon-enough arrival of the other three. The sooner their "vacation" started, the sooner he could enjoy himself.

The one thing that had struck him as the giving him the most of an impression in Remnant? It was the Faunus—a race that were as human as human could get, with features that gave them a likeness to animals.

But that was beside the point.

Remnant had girls with animal ears.

Actual, real, and honest-to-god **kemonomimi**.

 _Fuck yeah, animal-eared girls for the win!_

He was drawn out of his animal-eared fantasies with another question from Ozpin.

"With the four of you, that's enough to constitute another team. However, to my knowledge, one of the applicants this year has dropped after sending me a letter that he had _indeed_ sent falsified documents, and wishes to cancel as a result of it. Thus, one team would be without a fourth slot."

Indeed, it was a conundrum worth thinking about for the meantime. After all, if they were to ride along with Ozpin's machinations, then they would do it with minimal involvement with what is meant to happen and more on doing it with maximum headache for Ozpin himself.

Which they had to make sure the man himself did not realize all too soon.

Eyes suddenly alight with more mischief than enlightenment, Makoto Yuuki fished out his scroll, hurriedly typed a message, and sent it to his other "potential teammates."

His smile was just a tad bit sinister, considering what he was about to pull off. It would be amusing if they were able to drag _**him**_ in and mess with him, too.

Fuck peaceful lives. This was "vacation," after all.

"Well, I know a guy."

* * *

 _ **Part V: The Sword – The Butt of Team SKRY's Jokes**_

"O-Onii-chan."

"What is it, Miyu? Who's at the door?"

"Um, there's three guys here who want to see you..."

Shirou Emiya stepped out from the kitchen of their abode, strode through the living room and towards the opened door where his sister stood by, confused and a little fearful. The frown marring his features turned into a look of utter dread, with his paling complexion accompanying the gut-wrenching feeling that twisted in him.

Oh no.

 _Oh fucking hell no._

"Yo, Emiya. We're dragging your ass with us to Beacon. It's vacation time, after all."

"MIYU, GET BACK INSIDE! TRACE, ON!"

* * *

 **I would like to dedicate this piece to my grandfather—rest well, wherever you are in the afterlife. I'll make sure to share with the world the boundless amounts of crap jokes we've made with each other, especially after we've played BlazBlue, God Eater, and DMC together even if you were at the hospital by then. You're awesome, and you deserve this.**

 **Cheers, people.**


End file.
